


three whole years

by punkenigma



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Evan Hansen, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Gay Alana Beck, Gay Jared Kleinman, I love will roland, Jared Kleinman Is Bad at Feelings, Jared can play the guitar, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oops, Song fic, Three Years Later, Time hop, You guessed it - Freeform, and I still love will roland, and in attempting that I wrote ten pages, and is less emotionally stunted than high school, but he’s trying, bye, cause fuck you that’s why, im back from my depression hiatus, it takes place, jared is a three dimensional character, let! him! cry!, me projecting my insecurities on Jared Kleinman? Never, my whole goal was to make this realistic, no beta we die like men, president of the will roland fan club, that me, that’s it, uhhhh, “That’s what we call growth”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkenigma/pseuds/punkenigma
Summary: Everything that reminded Jared of high school was in a box at his parents’ house. Not that he wasn’t nostalgic, he would sometimes spend hours rifling through his memories, but everything related to high school caused him to feel a special sort of emptiness, and he wasn’t a sadist. No, he’d much rather forget high school ever happened.///in which jared uses music to cope and a certain long lost friend (crush) finds out after three years of radio silence.





	three whole years

**Author's Note:**

> in case you can’t tell by reading it (tho it’s p obvious) this is a song fic for “Your Graduation” by Modern Baseball. All y’all go listen to them dammit. 
> 
> Because of school this took me two weeks to write so sorry if it’s shit guys.
> 
> Anyways this is basically a will roland fan account so in true Bowie fashion this is centered around jared. Maybe one day I’ll write some of his other characters. We’ll see.
> 
> Enjoy xx

Everything that reminded Jared of high school was in a box at his parents’ house. Not that he wasn’t nostalgic, he would sometimes spend hours rifling through his memories, but everything related to high school caused him to feel a special sort of emptiness, and he wasn’t a sadist. No, he’d much rather forget high school ever happened. Ages fourteen through eighteen were prettier to look out without his glasses, and maybe after a couple bottles of whisky. Ignoring the past had become easier with time. The summer before college it hurt to even look at his backpack — and he couldn’t exactly afford a new one with the impending textbooks and other college expenses — and the slightest mention of his “friends” from his mothers had the ability to send him into a downward spiral. 

Once school started it got easier. He had the ability to throw himself into work and clubs and meet people without worry of his reputation following him — he was, after all, the least important member of The Connor Project. And it helped that he was a state away, on his own ; isolated. And it worked well. Each year proved to be easier and easier to get through, each holiday and summer at home he returned with a more convincing grin-and-bear-it disposition. He didn’t want to backtrack on that progress, and so his high school memorabilia stayed hidden.

There were some things he couldn’t avoid so easily, though. It didn’t matter where he was or who he surrounded himself with, either. When your childhood friend gives a speech so damn memorable that its shown in schools, that saves people from suicide three whole years later, that wound doesn’t heal itself.  _ But Jared why don’t you try therapy? _ He’d have to keep so many things a secret that there would be no benefit to it anyways. So instead, he threw himself into things. Most of the time, they didn’t stick. For a while he knit, then it was cooking, then theatre. Through theatre he found out that he liked performing, but not necessarily acting. Then when he was back home before junior year he discovered his old guitar hidden among the Hanukkah decorations in the attic. It was a refreshing sight, like he was tapping back into fifteen year old Jared’s dream to be musically talented — a dream that was spurred by his deeply hidden obsession with Shawn Mendes, not that he’d admit it — and so he picked it up again. 

It took some time, of course. He hadn’t played the thing for nearly five years so to say what he remembered was limited was an understatement. But slowly he managed to progress past nursery rhymes and “Somewhere Over The Rainbow.” About midway through his fall semester, he decided that maybe combining his “musical therapy” and love of performing could do him some good. The idea of people validating his experiences by validating his music was appealing, sure, but it also got him out of his apartment.  He managed to find a hole-in-the-wall café with weekly open mic nights by following some of the art majors in his Audio & Video Journalism class one Friday. The first night he didn’t perform. Instead, he sat at the bar toward the back with a Black Russian in hand. The atmosphere had been so calm and the pressure so little that he couldn’t help but enjoy himself. Even when acts weren’t very good, people were still supportive. It wasn’t surprising he wanted to come back. 

That sparked a weekly ritual for him. Once seven pm hit on Fridays he would pack up his guitar and wallet and head on his way to The Ginsberg. Slowly, he moved from sitting alone at the bar to tables closer to the stage. Eventually a small group of other performers formed; people he could surprisingly consider friends. The open mic became a form of therapy that worked for him, something he wasn’t even sure existed up until that point. He never performed his own stuff, hell he hardly knew how to write his own stuff, but every song choice had a special meaning behind it. Sometimes he explained it, giving a vague wave of his hand and entertaining the audience with a statement along the lines of,

“This one is dedicated to that English teacher that told me I’d never amount to anything,”

Before he launched into whatever his selection was for that week. Other times he couldn’t give an honest reason. He couldn’t find an innocent way to word “this song reminds me of when I faked being a kid who killed himself senior year” or “this is my internal dialogue of years of repressed emotions and self-hatred.”

But it was therapy nonetheless.

That’s how he ended up here, outside The Ginsberg on a chilly May evening. His brown leather jacket hung loosely around his form, only pulled by the strap to his guitar case. Stuffing his phone in his pocket, he pushed his way through the door. He looked toward the front table, making eye contact with his friends already surrounding it. One of the taller people, Link, waved him over with a wide smile. Jared grinned back and pushed his way through the crowd and toward an empty chair. His usual drink was already there.

“Jared! Buddy, you on tonight?” Link asked, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well I didn’t bring my guitar for nothing,” he laughed. The rest of the table laughed along, settling in their seats. Jared reached over to tap one of the members on the arm. She turned around, long pink braids nearly whipping her in the face.

“Lin, is April coming? I thought you two were supposed to perform tonight?”

She shrugged, shoulders sagging.

“She got called into work last minute. It  _ sucks _ ! I keep making plans to have her meet all of you guys but something always gets in the way. It’s like the world doesn’t want my worlds to collide.”

Jared chuckled at her melodrama. Rubbing her arm, he replied,

“C’mon, it’s not the end of the world. I’m sure the world is just waiting for the right time. You two have been together for, what, three years? This isn’t the end all be all.”

Lin huffed and took a swig of her drink. Jared leaned back. Suddenly, a clipboard was pushed in front of him. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, he wrote his name below the person ahead of him. He glanced at the number. Fifth. He could do that. Passing the clipboard along, he took in his surroundings. There were a couple new faces, more so than usual, all crowded at a table in the back. Two girls and a guy all chatting over beer. They didn’t seem very interested in the stage. 

Jared turned back to his friends. They were laughing at some joke that Brooke told as she faked a bow.

“Thank you, I’ll be here all week,” she announced, amusedly. 

“Stealing my crowd, Brooke?” Jared teased. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. 

Eventually the show started. One by one people went up, mainly regulars, and performed. One girl did stand-up — a pretty impressive set, Jared might add — but it was mainly singing. Finally, his name was called.

“Our fifth performer tonight is another familiar face, Jared Kleinman!”

There was a small applause as he pulled his guitar from its case and made his way up the small stage. Sitting down on the stool, he gave a two finger salute. Tapping the mic, he greeted the patrons.

“Hey guys, good to see all of you. Sorry to anyone hoping I’d get in a major accident that would prevent me from performing again, trust me it’s a bummer for me too.”

The audience chuckled.

“Tonight’s song choice is a little different than usual because this song isn’t supposed to be acoustic but hey, I’m not Dick Van Dyke so it’s going to be. I found this song after some shitty things my senior year of high school and maybe it was the teen angst talking, but it spoke to me a lot. So, without anymore rambling, here’s Modern Baseball’s  _ Your Graduation _ .”

He cleared his throat. Looking at his hands, he began to strum. The song was so much more solemn acoustic, a stark contrast to its usual indie rock angst. It gave him a deeper chance to wallow, albeit unintentionally.

 

_ It’s been three whole years of me thinkin’ bout you every day _

_ Sometimes for hours, sometimes in passing _

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he went a full day without thinking about Evan. On good days he would be a passing thought, almost like he forgot to turn on an ad blocker in his brain when he passed the oak trees on the way to class. On the bad days he could be found in a cocoon in his bed sheets, sobbing at the sight of his laptop and the sticker on it from The Connor Project. Those were days he skipped class.

 

_ Bullshit, you fucking miss me _

_ There I said it I guess I’ll talk to you in a few months _

_ Sitting drunk on the sidewalk _

_ I guess I’ll get up _

_ I guess I’ll go for a walk _

 

At first, Jared had hoped that Evan thought of him too. He tried to convince himself it was out of anger. That it was so Evan would always remember how he had fucked up. After a while, though, it became harder and harder to deny the real reason he wanted to believe Evan thought of him 

_ Used to call you crook, called you a bandit _

_ There ain’t no other good damn reason why _

_ My heart, it would go missing _

_ For so many months so I was wishing that you _

_ That you would stop pretending _

 

Part of him always knew that he loved Evan. The further he tried to suppress that part of himself, the bigger it became. It absorbed every other thought in his brain until finally, the first week of his freshman year, it overflowed and he cried and cried and cried. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on Evan’s constant presence in the halls, a friendly face among a sea of those who looked at him with disdain. He supposed that was when he fell the hardest.

 

_ I never thought that I, _

_ Oh I would see the day _

_ Where I just let you go _

_ Let you walk away _

_ Where I let you walk away _

__

__ It was true. He never thought that he’d watch Evan leave him. He always thought that the person to end their friendship would be himself — not that he ever would, willingly — but lo and behold all it took was a little bit of love from kinder people,  _ better _ people, people that weren’t Jared, and he lost Evan in a heartbeat. He still scoffed at that, still pushed through the tears stinging at the corner of his eyes with the remainder of his high school bravado. 

It took Jared a minute to register the applause from the audience, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He felt a bit lighter, he usually did after performances, and pushed himself from the stool, never looking up. As he returned his guitar to its case he felt Brooke squeeze his hand. He looked at her, eyes still glossy, and returned her tight-lipped smile. Coughing into his arm, Jared looked to the table.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then probably head home for the rest of the night guys. Don’t really think I’ll be much more fun this week.”

The others nodded and grumbled condolences and understandings and Brooke stood up to hug him— something he had to bend his knees for. He had never been known to feel particularly tall, but she made it easy to feel that way. Kissing his cheek, she said,

“We love you, Jare. Text me later, yeah? Keep me updated or else I  _ will _ break in to check on you.”

Jared chuckled and squeezed her tight one last time, replying, 

“I will, no worries. Love you too.”

Before heading toward the bathroom. He set his guitar case on the countertop and turned on the tap. Rubbing his eyes with the cold water, he took a deep breath and composed himself as much as he could. Just as he grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands, the door opened. It slammed against the tiled wall, a mistake newcomers often made, but beside flinching slightly, Jared remained with his back turned. The door closed delicately, almost unnoticeable. Jared slung his guitar over his back and coughed.

“Jared?”

Never in his life had Jared’s heart stopped, but this time it came dangerously close to killing him. He was frozen, white knuckling on the guitar strap. He waited for the punchline, the other shoe to drop, the auditory hallucinations to pass because  _ goddammit he was not going down this road—  _

“Jared, I-I know that’s you.”

_ God fucking dammit. _

Slowly, as if giving himself time to prepare, he turned around. He didn’t really know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a beard. Well, not a  _ beard _ , per say, but an amount of stubble on the brink of becoming a beard that Jared himself could never achieve. He had to go a week without shaving to really get even the hint of facial hair. 

He also wasn’t expecting a suit, but it did look good. It took him way too long to make eye contact and  _ thank god _ they provided a long needed sense of familiarity.

“Um, hi?” Evan tried, obviously uncomfortable. Jared was a cotton-mouthed mess. He just stared, which only served to freak Evan out further. Evan tried again.

“I liked your song? You’re really— uh— I didn’t know that you still, well, played. The guitar. Obviously.”

“ _ What are you doing here?” _

So it wasn’t the most delicate greeting, but in Jared’s defense his brain was mush and his years of repressed anger was quite literally crawling up his throat. Evan began stumbling over his words and Jared felt hot before realizing, in a moment only to be categorized by the emotion of  _ oh shit _ , that he was going to throw up. In record time, Jared flung his guitar case off his shoulder and into Evan’s arms and rushed into a stall, heaving over the toilet. He coughed and sputtered and regretted ever being born all at the same time. After catching his breath, he rested his forehead on the cool ceramic and tried not to think too hard about the germs on it. 

“Oh my god Jared are you okay?” Evan yelped, running to his side (or, backside. It was a public stall, after all). Jared laughed weakly, involuntary tears staining his cheeks.

“Am I ever?” he replied, hoarsely. The silence begged the question, a poor attempt at comedy hanging by a thread. Evan seemingly ignored it, choosing to answer the pre-vomit question.

“I’m here with some, uh, friends. For a drink. After a work event. One of them heard about there being live music? I didn’t know that that music would be… you. I promise I’m not stalking you or anything and I can go if you want I just heard you perform and knew that I was being thrown a line and needed to talk to you—”

“Three years and you ramble too much,” Jared interrupted, turning to face the other man. Evan blushed furiously, looking down.

“Oh, yeah, that hasn’t— doesn’t— go away. I guess.”

“It’s fine, Ev.”

The nickname felt foreign on his tongue and he realized that he missed it. Thinking about it made his face heat up, cheeks blotchy from tears, sweat, and embarrassment. Slowly, he pushed himself into a seated position. 

“I was actually just about to head home, so…”

Evan looked up again, eyes wide.

“Oh! Are you sure? Do you take the bus? You shouldn’t walk alone what if you get sick? Can you call anyone?”

His brain ran at a hundred miles an hour and he put up a hand, stopping Evan in his tracks.

“My apartment is only a couple blocks from here, I’ve walked in a much worse— and much less sober— state before, I’ll be fine.”

Evan deflated. They both stood, Evan helping pull him up, and walked toward the door. Taking his guitar out of Evan’s hands, he noticed as the blond gnawed at his bottom lip and sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Alright look, if you’re really that worried you can walk with me but I promise you I’m  _ fine _ .”

If he were a dog, Evan’s ears would have perked up. Jared suppressed a chuckle. He walked out of the bathroom and toward the entrance, glancing at his table. Brooke was the only one who noticed him there and, upon seeing Evan following behind him, raised an inquizitive brow. Jared rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘later’ and she nodded, turning back around. Jared held the door open for Evan and waved him through. They walked a couple of blocks before either of them soldiered up enough to talk. Surprisingly, it was Evan.

“So how has school been? Marymount, right?”

Jared nodded, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“Yeah, MMC. Journalism. You?”

“I actually just got my associates from the community college? I work at the Great Big Greenhouse back home.”

“Still a plant expert, huh?”

“Yeah, I haven’t really changed that much,” Evan trailed, wringing his hands. Jared scoffed.

“Geez, I hope you have at least a little bit. I mean you have the confidence to rock the dad beard now.”

Evan’s jaw dropped, hanging slack, causing Jared to cackle as he looked at him. He walked a little further ahead and Evan trailed behind, smiling. Catching up, he said,

“At least I can grow a beard. If I remember correctly, you didn’t even start shaving until junior year!”

“Oh fuck you, Evan!” Jared laughed, hanging his head. Evan paused momentarily, laughter dying down. Jared noticed, looking to him. Evan was biting his lip again. Jared nudged him with his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Evan nodded.

“Just thinking. The last time you said that to me was a very different conversation.”

Jared slowed to a stop, wrapping his arms around himself. Evan stopped too, turning and walking back toward him. The impending conversation hung heavy in the air. Jared watched his sneakers intently, scratching them across the pavement.

“Jare…Jared. I’m so sorry. I never thought I’d get the opportunity to tell you that but I…. I royally fucked up and hurt a lot of people in the process.”

Jared laughed weakly, nodding. 

“I wish I could have apologized sooner. I just… didn’t know how. I thought you hated me.”

Bowing his head, Jared replied,

“I did hate you, at first. I hated that you for roping me in to The Connor Project. I hated

that it felt like you used me to get in Zoe Murphy’s pants. I hated easily I would have forgiven you if you had asked for it.”

Evan nodded and rocked on his heels. 

“By the time I was ready to try and talk to you school had started and calling… didn’t feel right.”

“Because of your anxiety?”

“Because it didn’t feel as genuine.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence the last few blocks before Jared fished his keys out of his pocket and got in. Evan hesitated.

“It was nice seeing you, Jared.”

Jared spun around.

“You’re leaving?”

Evan paused.

“I… thought I was just supposed to walk you home?”

Jared sighed and pulled the door open wider. Waving his hand, he replied,

“Get your ass in here, Hansen. I haven’t seen you in three whole years.”

Evan nodded and ducked in, awkwardly shuffling around the main room. Jared locked the door and hung up his jacket.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Oh, um, no thanks.”

Jared nodded, getting himself a glass of water and greeting Evan at the couch. He pat the spot next to him. Evan hesitated before sitting down, causing Jared to chuckle. 

“You’re acting like you’ve never sat on a couch before, you sure you’re alright?”

“You’re just… being so nice to me? Which isn’t a bad thing! I’m just co-confused.”

“Do you want me to be mean to you?” Jared deadpanned. 

“Not—not particularly, no.” Evan replied, meekly. Jared sighed and leaned forward, resting his face in his hands. 

“Look, Ev. I know you didn’t do it to hurt people. You just wanted friends—  _ real _ friends— and I get that. I’m just sorry that I was such a dick that I made you feel that way. I was a real shithead in high school.”

“You’ve always been a shithead, Jared. But thank you,” Evan responded, patting Jared’s shoulder reassuringly. Jared laughed.

“Fair, but at least in middle school it was toward people who actually deserved it. Not you.”

“Yeah…. why  _ did _ you start being an ass to… me? 

Jared sucked in a sharp breath and sat up, causing Evan to jump. He retracted his hand as if touching Jared had burnt him. 

“I-I’m sorry, was that too far? You don’t have to answer I don’t want to upset you—”

“Evan. Ev. Hansen! Stop!”

Evan froze.

“It’s fine, Ev, I owe you an explanation anyways.”

Evan opened his mouth to refute but Jared quickly covered it with his hand. The other boy looked annoyed and Jared refrained from laughing. He sighed.

“Ev… I’m gay.”

Evan pulled Jared’s hand from his face and raised a brow.

“Okay? Jared you know I don’t care about that stuff, Alana was—”

“I know! Let me finish, Hansen, please. I’m only gonna have the balls for this once.”

He settled down again, still holding Jared’s hand. Jared’s face burned and he looked down.

“I wasn’t an asshole because I was just  _ gay _ . I was an asshole cause I was gay  _ for you _ . Sorry.” He trailed off at the end, voice barely audible. Just as he was about to pull his hand away, Evan squeezed it. Jared looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

“Jare… why are you sorry about that? I mean yeah, you probably could’ve been less emotionally stunted, but so could I. Don’t apologize for that, though. Never that.”

Scoffing, Jared replied,

“Evan, please, emotionally stunted is my middle name. Why do you think I was always trying to get you to drink with me? I knew that the only way I’d ever tell you was if I was at least buzzed.”

Evan laughed louder and more genuine than he had heard in a long time. Jared watched him in awe, realization of just how  _ not over _ Evan he was. Through laughter, Evan replied,

“I guess this would be a good time to tell you I’m bi? Found that out a….while ago.”

“ _ What? _ You mean we were living under each other’s noses the  _ whole damn time? _ ”

Evan shrugged.

“Like I said, emotionally stunted.”

“Touché.”

The fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, focused on the warmth from their intertwined hands. Jared huffed, suddenly more confident than he’d been since high school, only this time it wasn’t fake.

“Do you wanna spend the night? It’s late and the couch pulls out so….”

Evan smiled and squeezed his hand again.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

“Oh, rad. I’ll be right back.”

With flushed cheeks, he scurried off to get spare sheets and pillows. When he arrived back the couch was pulled out and Evan was shrugging off his button down in favor for his white undershirt. Jared froze.

“Evan Thomas Hansen is that a  _ tattoo? _ ”

Evan whipped around and glanced between Jared and his own forearm. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah. I got it right after my nineteenth birthday? As a… reminder.”

Jared stepped closer, inspecting it. It was a tree, of course, in black line work. The trunk, however, was a semicolon, with leaves and branches sprouting from the top. Surrounding the tree was a quote— “Keep looking where the light pours in.” 

He stood back up, looking at the other man.

“I like it. It’s very  _ Evan _ .”

A blush crawled up Evan’s neck, turning his ears pink. Jared smiled and went to put the sheets on the mattress. Composing himself, Evan helped silently. Once it was all set, they both sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t awkward, not really. Nothing with them was ever  _ truly _ awkward. Jared spoke up first.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Ev. I’m glad we got to see each other.”

“I am too…” 

Slowly, fingers intertwined. It wasn’t addressed. 

“So that song tonight was about…”

“You, yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.”

More silence, one that begged for initiation.

“Jare?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Jared’s eyes widened and he look at Evan. Shakily, he replied,

“You have no idea how much I want to say yes, but—”

“But?”

“I’ve spent the past three years trying to get over you, Ev. Now you’re back and it’s amazing and I just- I don’t want to rush into anything. I don’t want to fuck it up a second time.”

Evan nodded, only slightly disheartened. After a moment, he perked up.

“Tomorrow morning, do you want to go out for coffee? On a… date? My treat?

Jared’s face shifted quickly from surprise to sincerity. Smoothly, he leaned over and kissed Evan’s cheek. Pulling back, he replied,

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

And they smiled at each other, hands intertwined. It wasn’t perfect, they still had a lot to discuss, but that night? That night was a good beginning.


End file.
